


Overmorrow

by galaxyostars



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Aftermath of Inquisition, Deep Roads, F/M, Kirkwall, M/M, Tevinter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-31 00:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6447538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxyostars/pseuds/galaxyostars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they'd finally gotten enough of a plan to go to Tevinter and see what had already been set in motion, the playing field changed again. The strange activities the 'missing' elves had been invovled with ceased – some even returned home, though they wouldn't say why. They couldn't find a stronghold or a place of refuge Solas had been to, let alone set up in. There had been more, but for the two weeks they were there, it'd been a waste of time. Trevelyan had begun to lose hope in redeeming his friend, and so the search had ceased, temporarily, until he could find more to go on. The rest of them returned to their lives, ready for the call to action.</p><p>Was this the call?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Completely unbeta'd. Likely gotten a few names incorrect - will correct as I find them, because we all know we don't see these things until *after* they've been posted.

Kirkwall had never been so . . . quiet.

With the Inquisition disbanded, life for Varric Tethras had gone back to semi-normal when he returned to Kirkwall. Though he'd had to fight off some of the nobles when they found out he may have given away property and a key (no, _the_ key) to the giant chains in the Gallows upon his return, acting as the city's viscount felt little more than a glorified version of business as usual. And it only got better when friends showed up on his doorstep.

Aveline was already within the Keep, as expected, having returned with Carver - whom had held quite the grudge, but had settled after a few weeks back with the city guard, deciding to relinquish his duties as a templar (that was a story within itself). Avelin hadn't stepped down from her position as Guard Captain, and though there was talk about settling down and giving it away with Donnic, she wasn't actively pursuing that course. Secretly, Varric was grateful – having someone he could trust on top of the city guard made him sleep better at night, especially when he was trying to put the dump that was Kirkwall back together. Seeing him on the viscount chair made her crack a smile every time they spoke to each other, though she didn't voice any complaints.

Even Merrill came by to visit now and then, and had plans to travel away from Kirkwall. “Go back and see Ferelden again”, she'd said, and though Varric had given gentle  encouragement for her to go see the world as she'd wanted to, the Dalish elf quickly talked herself out of it, instead deciding to remain exactly where she was assisting with the alienage. On the bright side, however, she was getting better at Wicked Grace.

But the days further brightened when Hawke arrived by ship a mere few days after Varric returned from the Exalted Council – a small favour, the man claimed, from Isabela. It was the first time in years the dwarf had seen him without the world going to shit, their last proper conversation in person being in the hall to the War Council of Skyhold. In tow was broody, of course – things had apparently gotten a bit rough for Fenris when Hawke simply disappeared one day with only a note with an apology, but when Hawke returned from _Weisshaupt_ and the Inquisition relatively unscathed, the two had never been closer. Fenris actually smiles without his face cracking.

After a reunion gathering in the Hanged Man, the two moved themselves back into Hawke's estate – the building had had to be renovated after the nightmare blondie had conjured, but many bricks and capable hands later, it was good as new.

Hawke had immediately offered himself up as a right-hand-man – not that Varric actually had any choice in the matter. The man reveled in it. “My friend the viscount! Let's hope no Qunari decide to invade any time soon – being impaled once was enough.” It wasn't one of his funnier cracks about Varric's position, but it felt as though he'd cemented his boots in Kirkwall, that Rhoden Hawke didn't plan to leave again.

A whole year was spent with Hawke and Varric acting as the voice of reason among princy nobles whom couldn't get anything done without them. It went . . . surprisingly smoothly. If Varric needed some hands-on, stabby things done 'for the good of Kirkwall', the Hawke staff would come out, Fenris behind him as back up, and certain unwanted parties would go down. There wasn't many of these occasions, but it happened about once a month, mainly consisting of rehashing of old gangs long thought obliterated by Hawke years ago, the occasional Antivan assassin group, and Fenris's favourite, slavers. And when they weren't doing that, Hawke was either at the Keep with Varric and Aveline coming up with logical solutions to simple problems, or with Fenris.

And then a whole year passed, without any hint of an impending apocalypse.

Something wasn't right.

“You seem distracted.”

Aveline was the one to bring the dwarf out of his thoughts. He straightened himself up in his chair, legs now crossed as his eyes flickered between the guard captain and the door. “Do you ever get the feeling shit is about to happen before it does?”

She rose an eyebrow. “Like a huge green hole forming in the sky?”

“Sebastian is more likely to come for drinks then that happening again.” Varric scoffed. “I think getting paranoid.”

“Take a break, then. Go have a drink with Isabela or something – she's spending the next few days here.”

Suddenly eager to get out of the stupid chair and cursed pointy crown, Varric all but jumped at the chance to leave, Aveline shaking her head at him as he strode past her with a wave over his shoulder. But he didn't go for drinks with Isabela.

It was an easy walk to the Hawke estate – the sun was setting, the streets of Hightown getting darker, but not nearly time for any potential gangs to start prowling through the night looking for easy pickings. A nice change, if not a bit boring, but it didn't damper his new-found spirits. The dwarf knocked his knuckles on the lacquered wood, waiting for Hawke's “come in” before opening the door.

The mabari hound was first to greet him, Rashvine happily panting whilst seated on his new mat, staring at him. A promise of a game of diamondback later and Varric was onward again, hearing the voices of his friends float out of Hawke's study – or, rather, slow words devoid of any emotion were read by a rather gravelly, melodious elf.

“And in a fury from being beaten by the woman, Kaleva forced Aveline to her knees and- by the Maker, Hawke, I do not believe this book is for _children_.”

Hawke chuckled, bringing a bottle of wine to his lips. “Believe all you like – I picked it from the children's section myself.”

“I understand now why Aveline isn't entirely thrilled about her namesake.”

Varric shoved his hands in his pockets, leaning on the door frame with his foot crossed as he observed the couple. It was weird seeing them so domestic, Fenris in a chair with Hawke seated on the ground, casually shining the blade usually fixed to his staff with his head leaning against the elf's knee. Six years and Fenris was only just getting around to reading young adult books (with everything that had been going on, they'd claim they didn't have the time). Baby steps – they'd started small with younger readers books, and when he was quick to catch on, they moved up.

It was inspiring Varric to maybe take up writing a simple reader series. Kids books were great for beginner readers, but according to Hawke, Fenris was somewhat embarrassed when he'd been found reading 'Why Is The Nug Blue?' by a librarian.

“Not the prettiest tale,” Varric mused. “But certainly the most inspiring, so I'm told. Keeps the ankle-biters entertained.”

“I have no doubt.” The book got put down onto the side table, the elf leaning back in his chair, his eyes falling to the dwarf. “What brings you here, Varric?”

“Just passing through and checking in, making sure no giant spiders invaded while I was busy.”

Hawke almost choked on his drink. After coughing and sputtering, he put the bottle down next to him, an awkward chuckle from his lips. “No, no giant horrific nightmare monsters here.”

For a tiny moment, Varric had regretted his choice of words. Their 'adventure' into the Fade with the Inquisition hadn't been pleasant for Hawke, to say the least. Spiders were a sore subject, especially with Alistair's death and the gigantic huge fear/terror/whatever demon. He'd claimed he was fine, after the ordeal, and then immediately left for Weisshaupt – what transpired there, he'd also refused to say. Varric couldn't speak for Fenris, but if Hawke shut the topic down, he'd push no further until the human was ready to open up.

The elf merely raised an eyebrow at his spouse, keeping the subject light – though the dwarf made a mental note to avoid it further. “You would have heard Hawke screaming from the Keep.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Varric chuckled. “No plans for tomorrow?”

Hawke shook his head. “Not for tomorrow, no. But I caught wind that some Grey Wardens are headed Kirkwall's way, supposedly to arrive within the week. I'm eager to see what they want.”

Varric's eyebrows pinched together for a few seconds, considering what that event might actually mean. With the Inquisition disbanded, the Wardens were now again their own organization – and it wasn't as if they weren't capable of running themselves now, not with two years preparing for the day the Inquisition would close its doors. Trevelyan saw to that, always saying that he had no intention of keeping the Inquisition around for longer than needed – as soon as Corypheus was dealt with, he'd begun closing deals, shutting doors. The unfortunate thing was that it'd taken too long to get everyone back on their own feet. And then Fereldan and Orlais ended up doing his job for him.

The dwarf was under the impression that the Wardens didn't hold Hawke responsible for Alistair's death – it wasn't as if he'd literally plunged the end of his staff into the Warden's chest, but there were whispers around Skyhold that some were . . . less than pleased, to put it lightly. It'd only made Varric more interested in learning what happened in Weisshaupt.

But while Varric was thinking, Fenris chimed in first. “Perhaps they're searching for their missing commander.”

“What, the Hero of Ferelden? If she were here, I think half of Kirkwall would know about it by now.”

The dwarf shook his head. “Not if she wanted to be left alone.” He stood up straight. “I wouldn't worry too much about it. If the Wardens want an audience, we'll give them an audience. If they're just passing through, they'll get a room at the Hanged Man and pass through. They're probably headed to Ostwick for all we know.”

Last he heard, the Inquisitor was visiting family in Ostwick. It wasn't too much of a stretch to assume that was the Wardens' destination. He hoped. Trevelyan was good at dealing with this sort of thing.

“As long as they're not corrupted, don't intend to invade, and avoid waking any ancient magisters, things will keep settled.” The mage screwed the blade back to the butt of his staff, setting it aside on the floor.

“I don't think it'll come to an invasion, Chuckles.”

“This _is_ Kirkwall we're talking about. Every few years, invasion on the horizon – the Qunari, the Templars, Starkhaven – it's . . . strange for things to be so quiet.”

Varric knew the feeling. He shrugged, and turned for the door. “You're paranoid, Hawke. It'll be fine.”


	2. Chapter 2

He was awakened from his sleep by three sharp taps on his door. His first instinct was to reach for Bianca – now that his crossbow was safely in his hands, he removed himself from the bed, and crept confidently to the door – this wouldn't have been the first time someone's tried to break into his new home, and it likely wouldn't be the last. A quick look out the window said it was still late, the night casting nothing but strong moonlight. It was safe to say that this was a strange time for a friend to visit.

Varric twisted the handle and held Bianca at the ready in front of him, nudging the door open.

Standing behind the door was two hooded figures, one slightly taller than the other. The cloak of the tallest, however, held what looked like a miniature crossbow pointed at the dwarf. The mouth visible under the hood gave a sly grin.

“We seem to be at a stand-off, Varric.”

Varric’s eyes widened, Bianca relaxing in his hands. He knew that voice too well nowadays.

“Mind if we come in?”

There was no hello - not yet, and Varric knew exactly why that was. The dwarf chuckled, resting Bianca on his shoulder as he kicked the door open wider, allowing the two to pass him before cautiously checking to see if he had any other unexpected visitors.

Once safely inside, the man pushed away his hood.

Within Emprise Du Lion, a battle between Inquisition forces and Red Templars had raged – though “forces” was a relative term, because in reality, only the Inquisitor’s inner circle ever found themselves involved in such battles – the Inquisitor was always concerned with the safety of the troops, calling what the inner circle was often dragged into "small-scale", so the smaller army of his inner circle plus the Iron Bull's Chargers would put themselves in front and take on whatever challenge faced them. Red Templars weren’t anything new during that time, and as an archer, Oscar Trevelyan kept himself as far from the main battle as possible – he had a good eye for threats, taking out stragglers, narrowing the playing field, and whenever one of the big ones showed up, he, Sera, and the mages usually dealt the most damage.

Turns out that one particular assassin held no qualms about trying to kill someone when their target was already being attacked. A jagged dagger slid along the left side of his neck, and it likely would have killed him if Dorian Pavus didn't have impressive reflexes and hadn’t blown the two apart. Some serious bleeding and healing magic from Solas later, and the Inquisitor was as good as new, if not a bit scarred. He was seriously more frustrated with the fact that he'd gotten his favourite coat stained, and that Cassandra was probably going to kill him for "being reckless".

Back then, the scar had been impressive and intense, a new way of identifying the Inquisitor next to his purple tattoo dotting around his left eye. Now, it seems to have faded. It wasn’t as eye-catching as it had been before, but Varric felt as though he'd know it when he saw it in a crowd full of people. And as the rogue’s heavy brown eyes captured Varric’s with that smug grin of his, the dwarf realized just how long it’d been since he’d actually seen the man, let alone the Seeker behind him.

“I don’t suppose you could have called ahead?”

Cassandra sheathed her sword, glancing around Varric’s new home, her Navarren accent still heavy in her voice. “We may have been followed.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Trevelyan scoffed, before gesturing at a seat – an inquiry to Varric. “May I?”

“Sure. Go right ahead.”

The human all but fell into the chair with a relieved huff, right hand immediately playing with the straps of his 'arm'. “It’s been a long two days.”

“I'll say. Word is you're in Ostwick. Fancy seeing you here!”

“We were. They were somewhat desperate to meet Cassandra.”

Varic chuckled, resting Bianca onto the table. “I can't even picture that conversation. I have to ask; how'd that go?”

“Not as bad as what _you'd_ imagine, Varric.” The Seeker shrugged out of her coat, all but throwing her next comment to her paramour. “Though I am never going to the theatre with your aunt again.”

“Cassandra, the hiding romantic she is, couldn't bare to spend a single hour with my aunt watching a play based upon the love story that is Pentaghast and Trevelyan.” The smug grin had stretched into a smile of amusement.

“It was highly inaccurate.” She growled.

“It's the thought that counts, my love.”

“Wait a minute,” Varric perched himself onto the table next to his crossbow, eyes glancing between the two. “Ignoring the fact that there's a _play_ based on your 'love story', what was inaccurate?”

The Seeker's cheeks flushed an adorable red, eyes now at the floor as she sucked on her lip. Trevelyan couldn't help his laughter it seemed. “Apparently it was missing our-”

“ _He doesn't need to know_.”

The look Treveylan gave her was insightful – just the eyes, sparkling with an unspoken desire. “Then I'll say that _key details_ were missing regarding a . . . personal night.” The dwarf would have to find out what was missing later, to steal for his next Swords and Shields book than anything else.

“Okay, so with that aside, what brings you to Kirkwall?”

The attention is brought back to Varric, Treveylan finally successfully pulling off the miniature crossbow from his arm completely, a quiet breath of relief leaving his lips as he gently rubbed the stub that remained. “Dorian's been in touch. There was a slave uprising in Minrathous two days ago.”

Varric shrugged. “Nothing new – I remember him saying that it happens all the time.”

“This time was different.” Cassandra crossed her arms. “It seems many elven slaves used the riots as a distraction for escape.”

“Not only that, but one would expect _someone_ to see hundreds of homeless ex-slaves crossing borders, but it seems that this isn't the case. They all just . . . vanished.”

Pushing the thought of the happy smile of Fenris away, this was the 'vanishing' detail that caught Varric's attention. “Hundreds, you say? Minrathous is an island – one bridge in and out. Where were the riots? On the bridge? What, did they just sneak past the city guards and templars?”

“They _disappeared_ , Varric. No one saw them leave the city.”

That made his head hurt. “Hundreds of elven slaves unaccounted for, with absolutely _no one_ claiming to know where they went or what happened to them?”

His guests simply nod, Trevelyan adding more. “Dorian's convinced Solas is involved.”

Ah. Solas. It was possible Dorian wouldn't have even mentioned it to Trevelyan if he hadn't had his suspicions – then again, slaves just vanishing into thin air would have a lot of his countrymen on edge, if not downright pissed. But still – the idea of all these elves just . . . gone? Trevelyan had said that Solas had literally turned a qunari to stone with barely a blink of an eye – just what more was he capable of? Could he 'teleport' hundreds of elves at a time to a single location? Was something like that even possible?

“You think this has to do with his plan.”

The Seeker leaned against Trevelyan's chair, a hand squeezing his shoulder. “Perhaps. We don't know for certain.”

He knew what was coming. When Solas had first disappeared, news of his plan had spread within Trevelyan's inner circle, but no further. Plans were to be made, and with Haven completely abandoned, it had (somewhat ironically) made the perfect place to start whatever 'taskforce' they'd need to bring Solas down – it'd taken some time, but they'd managed to dig through the remains of the mountain Trevelyan had lopped onto Corypheus to get into Haven's Chantry. The holding cells were the only place that had remained relatively unscathed from the experience, and thus, became a place of meeting.

It was an arrangement that didn't last long.

Dorian had been promptly pulled back to Tevinter to take his father's place in the Magisterium – he'd broken away once to attend and provide whatever information he'd had on him at the time, but never again. The sending crystals he and the Inquisitor held in their possession proved useful in his physical absence. Cole had disappeared without any reason as to why, or even when. Leliana returned to Orlais to keep a close eye on Divine Victoria – Vivienne, while a loyal friend to Trevelyan, had incited some interesting problems between two factions of mages, and with Cassandra unable to stand being in a room with her for more than five minutes, someone else had to keep the peace. Blackwall, or Rainier, or whatever he called himself now, was a Grey Warden. After the Exalted Council, he'd left without a word. It was Varric's understanding that things were still tender between him and basically everyone within the circle, with the exception of Sera. She'd left, citing a desire to go back to the way things were, though once or twice, though Dagna came in her stead with a promise that ears were to the ground regarding anything to do with 'baldy', and a crossbow attachment for Trevelyan's missing arm (that had been a good day) as a “gift from Red Jenny”. Josephine had returned to Antiva, to see to her family's affairs, as Varric had been forced to come back to Kirkwall.

The only people that could attend these secret meetings ended up being Cullen, The Iron Bull and his Chargers, and the pair that was Pentavelyan.

When they'd finally gotten enough of a plan to go to Tevinter and see what had already been set in motion, the playing field changed again. The strange activities the 'missing' elves had been invovled with ceased – some even returned home, though they wouldn't say why. They couldn't find a stronghold or a place of refuge Solas had been to, let alone set up in. There had been more, but for the two weeks they were there, it'd been a waste of time. Trevelyan had begun to lose hope in redeeming his friend, and so the search had ceased, temporarily, until he could find more to go on. The rest of them returned to their lives, ready for the call to action.

Was this the call?

“What do you need?”

“Access to Kirkwall's Deep Roads.” It was such a casual response, as if he were asking for a drink. “I know you had them closed off because of the red lyrium.”

Varric crossed his arms. “You think they connect to Tevinter.”

“I don't just think. I _know_. Dorian and Leliana pulled some strings. They're riddled with darkspawn of course, but still useable, with the right amount of people.”

 _Nightingale must have conjured a small army..._ The dwarf rose an questioning eyebrow, though said nothing. He'd never wanted to know the true extent of Leliana's influence, but if it got them what they wanted, then so be it. He didn't need to hear about the finer details. “So we're going to Tevinter through the Deep Roads. Is there something wrong with taking a boat?”

Trevelyan simply cracks another smile. “Are you aware of elves headed to your Deep Roads?”

“I beg your pardon, Inquisitor?” The dwarf frowned.

Cassandra sighed. “It's been brought to our attention that eluvians may be being moved into the Deep Roads.”

“Oh no. I keep tabs on those whenever possible. There's only _one_ eluvian in Kirkwall, and it's in pieces in a Dalish elf's place in Lowtown. It's dead, inactive. And I've got people keeping tabs on the Deep Road entrances. Until that lyrium is gone, _no one_ is getting in or out through there without at least being threatened by something pointy.”

Aveline had promised him, had given him her word that the entrance was secure. And with everything that had happened, Carver was watching the place it like a hawk (ha – like a “Hawke”). The idea that they'd _all_ failed to keep it secured? Highly unlikely, not when the place caused so much grief for both Kirkwall and the rest of Thedas.

“Not _yet_ , at least,” Trevelyan yawned, seemingly completely unconcerned about the whole thing. “But one will be moved in. I'm asking you take off your watch dogs, just for one day. Let Cassandra and I go look around.”

The dwarf shook his head. “Red lyrium aside, that place is _crawling_ with darkspawn now. As much as you two can handle yourselves, just two of you is not enough.”

And really, he'd never seen Trevelyan in action with that crossbow. From how quick he was to take it off, it seemed like he wasn't completely adjusted to it. Could be something, could be nothing, but he was hardly going to force Cassandra to fend for them both should something happen to her lover. He couldn't live with himself – he'd grown fond of the Seeker.

Cassandra crossed her arms. “Are you volunteering?”

“We're not going alone, Varric. Friends are coming.”

And there was that noble confidence, just oozing from Trevelyan's eyes, forcing Varric to trust him. Hopping off the table he'd sat himself on, Varric sighed. “Fine. _Fine._ But I'm still going with you. I know my way around better than you do. And you'll forgive me if I ask some of my acquaintances to join me.”


	3. Chapter 3

On a regular day at this hour, she would be home fluttering around like a butterfly without a care in the world, yabbering on about the nonsense that occurred in the Kirkwall's Alienage. She'd smile and offer Varric a glass of water, maybe some breakfast before he took to the Vicount's Keep. But today, knocking on Merrill's door only confirmed his suspicions.

She wasn't home.

He hadn't wanted to feel uneasy, but the moment Trevelyan had even mentioned elves disappearing into the deep roads, he'd felt a growing concern for the elven mage whom had in her possession a broken eluvian and the key to it. The growing paranoia was becoming increasingly realistic.

“She's not here.”

He'd almost jumped out of his skin, instead settling for a quick spin to face the man who'd interrupted his search. Carver Hawke's eyes, calm yet strangely critical, stared back at him.

“Maker, Junior, you almost scared the life out of me!”

He gave a frown, paired with an amused smile – a common trademark of the Hawke family, it seems. “I'm sorry, Varric, I hadn't meant to. You're looking for Merrill, yes?”

He hadn't intended for Hawke – _any_ Hawke for that matter – to be involved with any plans going into the Deep Roads, and there were two reasons for this. The first reason being that Treveylan was sure throwing around the word “Tevinter” a lot, and if there was one thing either Hawkes never wanted to do again, it was face another darkspawn magister.

On the other hand, Varric didn't believe it necessary to endanger the family once more – not only had the many years of hell in Kirkwall literally torn the Hawke family apart, but almost losing one Hawke to the Fade had been enough to put Varric off ever asking Rhoden to do anything more than settle some gang conflicts ever again. Carver was in a similar case, though if there was a day where Varric had to rely on him for any sort of combat, it was the day the world was ending – that wasn't to say the man couldn't hold his own - far from it, given that out of all of them, Carver was likely the one still getting the most practise, but he was under strict orders to just never involve him.

But lying to Carver was a hard thing to accomplish. Despite a newfound state of collected calm, sometimes over-confident exterior caused by many a success in his templar career, he was by no means stupid nor gullible. The minute his brother sidelined him by asking Aveline to hide him away, he'd been at a standoff with Rhoden trying to prove himself ever since. Rhoden called it sibling rivalry – Varric just thought it was unhealthy.

“I was,” Varric huffed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You haven't seen her around, have you?”

He couldn't help but notice how that cool exterior faltered a little in Carver's face. “She was supposed to meet with me for breakfast this morning but didn't show. I was wondering if she'd perhaps just forgotten, but she's not home, and isn't in Hightown.”

Merrill usually left notes if she was going out of town nailed to her door. Leaving in the middle of the night to join some elven rebellion seemed out of character.

No. Merrill wouldn't stoop to that level – not after hearing everything that happened with the Inquisition. Would she?

“Maybe it was about a demon?” Carver offered, but it was more out of sarcasm then any true suggestion. Not to mention unlikely – they both knew that the whole business with the mirror and the stories Varric and Hawke brought back from the Fade had deterred any willingness to participate in any more deals with the things.

Though for the rest of the day, he couldn't stop thinking about what exactly the elf could be up to.

* * *

Isabela was quite keen to stretch her legs, happy to follow Varric wherever he wanted so long as the promise of better ale at the Hanged Man would come to fruition afterwards. Likely armed to the teeth and equipped with her captain's hat – which seemed to be three times broader than necessary – she'd fell into step next to the dwarf and his crossbow.

“So this Seeker of yours,” She finally questioned on their hike to the Deep Roads entrance. “She had you tied to a chair?”

“There were no ropes involved, Rivaini.”

“Consider me disappointed. Nobody ever tries to be adventurous anymore – do you know how difficult it is to get a crew that revel in riches instead of losing it all to the first wench they see?”

“Can't be _too_ hard – you're sailing, aren't you?”

“Not the point, Varric.” She rolled her eyes.

As they'd approached the Inquisitior, she'd immediately noted how she was expecting someone more “roguish and handsome, with two arms to boot”. Cassandra's Seeker armor shined from way away, contrasting the Inquisitor's well designed coat. The Seeker was immediately compared to Aveline without a second thought from the pirate, Isabela's nose tossed up at the mere notion Cassandra was in a relationship, let alone with someone with such a reputation as Oscar Trevelyan. The only response was Cassandra's trademark scowl.

When they were finally on equal ground with the rest of the party, one mountain qunari, horns included, stepped into view. By the time Varric himself had caught a glimpse, it was too late – a dagger flew almost effortlessly from Isabela's hand and embedded itself into the entrance just left of the Iron Bull's ear.

He didn't even flinch, simply turning to place that heavy one-eyed gaze to her. It only further provoked the pirate, twirling her remaining dagger with a loud voice utterly _laced_ with a condescending attitude to the party gathered around him. “Qunari once again landed in Kirkwall and no one seems to give a damn-”

“Put it _down_.”

As she was about to hurl another at the care-free warrior, the Inquisitor (and a few choice members of the Iron Bull's Chargers coming up behind him) stepped in front of the qunari (much to his amusement), a crossbow attachment raised in Isabela's direction.

This didn't need to escalate anymore than it already had. Varric put an arm out in front of her. “Bull doesn't have any quarrel with you, Isabela. Let's keep it that way.”

The weapon was twirled once more before the pointy end was finally put away. Trevelyan relaxed his stance, crossbow dropping, and Dalish stepped back to Bull – the qunari having not even moved an inch during the entire ordeal, other than a smug smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Hell, he seemed amused by the entire thing. “You must be the pirate I've heard about.”

“You keep five feet away from this pirate at all times and we'll be just dandy.” She shot at him.

“Will do. But you should know – that's the best throw I've ever seen from that distance.”

She seemed to relax at the flattery.

“Now that that's out of the way,” Varric huffed. “Inquisitor, Seeker, I'd like to finally introduce you to Isabela.”

“Queen of the Eastern Seas.” She announced proudly. “We were in contact during your little crisis.”

A sly grin spread across Trevelyan's face. “I remember. I appreciate your efforts to assist. Just as I do now.”

“Don't flatter yourself too much. I'm just here for the drinks promised to me later.”

Cassandra could only roll her eyes again. “Charming.”

The Deep Roads hadn't changed all that much since he'd last been here. It was still dark, gloomy, colder than usual, and held that innate sense of fear that often came with knowing hordes of darkspawn were probably watching your every move. They'd each done their best to alleviate tension as they journeyed deeper still – Isabela had tried striking up a conversation with Cassandra before deciding that the qunari was a lesser evil.

The Chargers behind Bull were significantly lacking in numbers, now that Varric had the chance to do a headcount. It wasn't “the full lot”, as Bull had explained – it had been easier taking only a handful of his mercenaries to Kirkwall, else they'd have attracted more attention then they'd needed (and given that he, a qunari, was in Kirkwall without having caused a riot of some sort was a feat in itself). Instead, two thirds of them remained in Orlais with Krem. Dalish, Stitches and Grim had made the trip, and the Inquisitor was doing quite well in keeping up a conversation with the usually mute Grim – though, in fairness, it consisted mainly of a lot of the Inquisitor talking and Grim just nodding and grunting. Still, it amused Trevelyan to no end for reasons Varric didn't yet understand.

When they'd neared the cavern that once held the dangerous red lyrium, Trevelyan had stopped them all, keeping everyone behind him as he inched closer to-

Inched closer to an eluvian.

The human had been right. An eluvian somehow made it into these Deep Roads despite his security.

“Looks active,” Bull noted.

Isabela rose an eyebrow. “So, what, some elves have been here recently?”

“Shh.”

The pirate had looked quite shocked, maybe feigning anger that the Inquisitor had just “shhed” her, but didn't make a sound as the human tilted his head in the direction of another cavern opening.

“That sounds like . . .” Another moment of silence. “Someone's talking.”

Loading a bolt into his crossbow, Trevelyan had all but marched forward, Cassandra closely trailing – apparently the sound of people speaking was enough to go in guns blazing, but considering the circumstances, it was a course of action Varric could appreciate.

The cavern had been suffered a cave-in, the entrance held together only by large rocks keeping even larger rocks from falling. The further they went in, the more Varric could hear what Trevelyan pointed out – whimpering from further into the cavern.

“... not going to die, I'm not going to die, I'm not going to die-”

Isabela in her place next to Varric twirled her daggers once more. “I know that voice.”

Despite Trevelyan's insistence, the pirate raced forward, skirting and jumping over fallen boulders, hat skimming past a few where room simply wasn't available for it. The others, uneasy about the threat of darkspawn, did not match her speed.

He almost wished he'd turned around completely.

“Varric, it's Anders!”

Cassandra almost tripped over at the mere mention of the mage's name, and despite his distaste for the man, the dwarf couldn't help but speed up. Anders? In the Deep Roads? Unlikely. The man had high-tailed it out of Kirkwall the second Hawke allowed him to.

But sure as he breathed, when he finally caught up to Isabela, there was Anders. Pinned underneath what may have been rubble from a now-fallen cavern wall. He was almost completely covered – one leg, his head and shoulders all visible, but everything else had to have been crushed under the rocks.

“Is-Isabela?” The mage finally managed to stammer out, breaths shallow and quick, eyes unfocused. “You're in the Deep Roads?”

“Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. Somebody help me move these rocks!”

The Chargers had already set to work with Varric as Bull maneuvered himself into the area – too large to fit properly – with Cassandra and Trevelyan having lagged behind, apparently caught up in a quiet conversation at the exact wrong moment.

“Some-something's pressing into my lungs.” He gasped. “I can't- I can't get a deep breath.”

“We're working as fast as we can.”

The Bull had pulled a rock up revealing Anders' pelvis, as well as causing the mage to emit a groan of pain. “Stitches, what can you do for him?”

“It's all internal.” He'd already pulled a vial out from his pocket, gently raising Anders' head in an effort to get the mage to swallow it's contents. “We need to get him out of here.”

Blondie shook his head. “I'm not safe to move.”

“It's not exactly safe to leave you here, either.” Isabela snapped.

“Get him well enough to move,” Trevelyan finally said. “This will have to be a quick journey back. Is there somewhere we can take him?”

The name slipped out before Varric could stop it. “Hawke.”


	4. Chapter 4

Bull had the pleasure of hauling Anders up and racing him back to Hightown, Isabela quick on his heels as if she were concerned Anders was in some kind of danger _other_ than serious injury,  muttering about how the mage hadn't yet started glowing and that being a good sign. Varric could barely keep up with them. Trevelyan and Cassandra had lagged behind with the rest of the Chargers for Maker. But the first priority was Anders.

He never thought he'd hear himself think like that ever again. How the times have changed.

Barging through into the Hawke manor had resulted in some startled antics. As the door flung open, Rashvine had gone into guard mode, immediately up from his bed and ready to pounce at the quite large qunari. And then was Fenris. 

The second Fenris laid eyes on his absolute least favourite mage, the lyrium tattoos flared and he stalked over, stopped only by Isabela trying to explain the situation, to no avail.

“Fenris, _please_ -”

“You brought that _monster_ into my home-!”

“And that monster needs help-”

“What in Andraste's name is going on here!?”

Hawke came racing down the stairs, fresh from a bath it seems –  hair drenched and beard trimmed, a towel now discarded over the wooden hand rails as he glazed past Isabela and Fenris to assist Bull, clearing the dining table. Rhoden was taken aback when he recognized the dusty and bloodied face.

“Anders.”

The response was a cry of pain as he was placed down on the table, someone placing a cushion under his head. Varric stepped forward, putting Bianca next to Rashvine for safe keeping. “Hawke, I'm sorry. There was nowhere else I could think of to take him.”

The man blinked a few times, regaining his bearings as he glanced around, finally snapping into action. “Right.” He tapped a finger to his temple before pointing at Isabela. “Stash of potions and poultices in the upstairs wardrobe, third draw.”

“Got it,” She muttered, all but shoving Fenris out of her way, the rogue's speed second to none. 

Anders, however, seemed to disagree with the direction. “They won't . . . they won't help here,” He gasped. 

“Yes, well, in all the panic, everybody seemed to forget that I specialize in _fire_. _I don't heal people_ , Anders.” Rhoden said, incredulous as he leaned down to be eye-to-eye with his former friend.

“But I do. I can- I can walk you through it.”

“Walk me through _what_ , Anders!?”

“Hawke.” Fenris warned, and the mage glanced back at him in acknowledgement of his concerns.

And within yet another flash, Isabela had returned, carrying vials of liquid ranging from red to blue, carefully placing them all on the table Anders was laid upon. “ I found your lyrium just in case.”

“Appreciated.” Hawke muttered, carefully raising the other mage's head much to his chagrin and making him drink, still addressing Isabela. “I need you to go find Carver, bring him here.”

“I'm on it.” 

“Everyone else, _out_.” He snapped. “If something happens, I don't want you in here making a mess of my house.”

Bull, Varric (retrieving Bianca as he went) and a handful of Chargers that had managed to catch up within the last minute or so followed Isabela out of the main room. Fenris, however, stood his ground.

“I will not leave.”

“You're not everyone else.” Hawke said with a grin. “Anders, what am I doing?”


	5. Chapter 5

When Isabela returned with Carver in a tow, he hadn't been in armor, but carried his great sword strapped to his back – he'd been asleep, he'd complained when Varric questioned his disheveled state. A side effect of his own lyrium withdrawal he hadn't yet been able to shake despite his progress. He'd knocked on the house door, Fenris quietly letting him in with a muttering of his appreciation. 

Carver's  presence wasn't necessary, but it had obviously made Rhoden feel better,  the younger man trained as a templar. Though Fenris himself was formidable against the likes of Anders, Carver could dispel magic without a third thought. It was a respectable decision.

The rest of them had crowded out in Hightown and looked extraordinarily out of place what with a dalish “archer”, very visible qunari and a pirate captain leaning impatiently on the bricks of the mansion accompanied by the viscount, a Seeker and a cloaked figure with a crossbow arm, they all were eager to enter and be out of the sight of  passersby.

Trevelyan, donning quite the dark cloak and a mask covering the lower half of his face, dismissed Bull and his Chargers, explaining where the Hanged Man was located and tossing the qunari quite the sum of gold. “Services rendered,” The rogue mumbled. “Start a tab.”

The Iron Bull bowed his head, rounding up his people, and soon they paraded out of Hightown giving the rest of them breathing space.

The rest of them were glad to be out of the heat when Carver opened the door to retrieve them. They filed into the mansion one by one, following the ex-Templar back into the main room.

“How is he?” Isabela asked, dumping her very large hat onto the desk in the corner. Treveylan behind her had taken off his cloak, removing the mask and promptly unbuckling the crossbow attached to his stump. It had very nearly landed on her hat – she had to swipe it away, giving him a glare before finally beating him over the head with it. 

Carver ignored it all, naturally.

“Breathing,” He sighed. “He's sitting up now. Rhoden set him up a bed with orders to rest, but . . . I don't know. He's restless. He's . . . he's different. Somehow.” 

Varric rose an eyebrow. “Different?”

“If I had a better way to explain it, I would.” Carver shrugged. “He just doesn't seem like the Anders I remember.”

“The Anders you remember destroyed a chantry,” Cassandra said. “Perhaps it is best his attitude has changed.”

Carver blinked, his head tilting a little as he glanced between Cassandra, Trevelyan, then back to Varric. “Who the hell are these people?”

He didn't get the chance to respond, his brother instead doing it for him. “Inquisitor Oscar Trevelyan and the much esteemed Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast,” The bearded mage announced loudly, leaning against the door to the dining room, dabbing his hands dry with a towelette as he gave a stern glare, directed only at Trevelyan. “You might have called in to me first before barging in with  _Anders_ , of all people, and dumping him on my dining table.”

Trevelyan turned to face him, a hand squeezing what was left of his arm past the elbow. “I had no intention of involving you, Hawke.”

“Too late, I'd say. In the event anyone else wants to someone to my doorstep, know that I'm _not a healer_. _I make fireballs_.”

“I am sincerely sorry-”

“Save it,” Hawke snapped, kicking open the door. He turned, throwing his next words over his shoulder. “He's awake. And speaking.”

Trevelyan glanced at Cassandra, a silent conversation occuring between the two of them. Before long, Cassandra rolled her eyes, opting to stay behind and remove her heavy armor. But her sword remained at her hip.

When Varric laid eyes on Anders, leaning against a wall on what might have been a thin mattress and in a light conversation with Fenris, it was evident that the mage was less then energetic. His eyes just seemed . . . lifeless. Dark rings circled underneath them – either the product of a broken nose or a serious sleeping problem. He still looked like he was covered in a fine sheen of dirt, his face hardly wiped clean, hair matted but freshly tied back. At least he was getting good breaths of air in. 

Then he realized that he was holding a somewhat civil conversation with  _Fenris_ , the elf perched in a chair watching him. Of which Hawke interupted. 

“Inquisitor Trevelyan, meet Anders.” He gestured to the ex-Warden. 

Trevelyan took up a chair of his own, chopped arm's elbow resting on the table. “I hear you've caused quite the trouble in Kirkwall.”

“If I said I didn't mean to come back to Kirkwall, would you believe me?” Anders said rather sheepishly.

“No.” Fenris replied.

The blonde mage glanced back up to the elf, before readdressing Hawke and the Inquisitor. “If you'll allow me a few hours rest, I  can be on my way.”

“That's it?” Isabela shrieked. “We drag you out from underneath the Deep Roads, and you're off on yourway without so much as a thank you?”

Anders sighed. “It was my own stupidity that landed me under those rocks. I'd intended to return to my  people .”

“Your people?” Trevelyan questioned.

“Wardens. I told them chasing a lead, was supposed to return within the hour. I thought I was-” He stopped, looking away at the legs of the dining table, before continuing quietly. “I thought I was chasing Merrill.”

Hawke blinked. “ _Merrill?_ ”

“Yes. Unfortunately. I must have . . . I don't know, I must have lost it a little.”

Varric turned away as Isabela berated Anders for doing something so utterly ridiculous, his eyes connecting with Carver's. The thing was, it  _wasn't_ so utterly ridiculous. Merrill had not been home yesterday, and Carver had made no mention of her since. His companions were all adults – Varric didn't need to keep track of them every hour of every day. Each could handle themselves, so he'd never thought to raise the alarm. He still didn't think it was worthy of concern now, despite hearing Anders talk. The mage had kind of lost it the last time they all saw him – there was nothing to say this wasn't some delusional product of his being possessed by Justice.

Until Trevelyan spoke up. “This 'Merrill'. She's a dalish elf?”

The dwarf turned on his heel, practically shoving a finger into the Inquisitor's chest. “No. Merrill is not dumb enough to fall for some fanciful elven god's ploy.”

“Maybe not, Varric. But you can't deny that it's an odd coincidence.”

Poor Hawke, however, just seemed overly confused. “Coincidence? What are you talking about?  What does this have to do with Merrill? ”

“Solas.”

“Solas?” Hawked frowned. “You mean the walking guide book for spirits?”

Trevelyan sighed, rubbing his eyes as he leaned more into the table, the edge digging into his side as he held up the stump of his arm. “Solas is an elven god. He is Fen'Harel.”

The Champion of Kirkwall did not act so much as a champion known for running headlong into danger. It seemed he would have taken a step back if he could have, and as if sensing his partners unease, Fenris stood to take a place beside him. As if the trouble with the wardens themselves hadn't been enough for Hawke – as if Corypheus hadn't been enough. 

But Hawke stood his ground, crossing his arms as he regained composure, . “Inquisitor, I don't want to know.”

“I know you're less than eager, Hawke, after everything that happened, but given Kirkwall's recent involvement, I believe your assistance may prove invaluable.”

“ _May_. _May_ prove invaluable. I don't want to be involved this time.”

The dwarf tried to intervene. “Hawke-”

“No, Varric.” Hawke snapped. “I am done. If you want to go out gallivanting the Deep Roads with darkspawn company, go right ahead. I'll make your excuses, and Aveline and I will hold down the fort here in Kirkwall. But don't ask me to fight another war against a demon darkspawn that has a nack for opening rifts into the Fade. This band of merry men, up against an _elven god,_ comes extraordinarily close to that territory, don't you think?”

Varric glanced at Fenris. “Back me up here?”

But the elf only shook his head.  “I'm sorry,  Varric. But our place is here.”


	6. Chapter 6

Hawke hadn't booted them out of his home, but by the time Anders was looking a little more energetic then he had, none of the 'guests' could say they felt very welcome. Trevelyan pulled Cassandra and Isabela to the Hanged Man, though whether Isabela actually followed him was a different story. Varric was under the impression they were meeting up with Bull and his Chargers, and he honestly couldn't see Isabela sticking around for that, no matter how cute and cuddly the Bull came off. 

And despite the incredibly odd and quite frankly frighteningly civil conversation he was keeping with Fenris, Anders himself mentioned not feeling overly comfortable with remaining in Hawke's house on a mat in the corner of the dining room. Not that Varric could blame him – every second glance from Hawke to the blonde mage included some kind of a scowl, be it out of confusion or annoyance at his reappearance. 

Varric decided a change of scenery was in order as soon as Anders said he felt happy to leave, even if he didn't look it. Fenris, to the shock of the Viscount of Kirkwall,  _assisted_ . 

_Fenris._

Either Anders had drugged him or the elf was trying something new for a change. 

Anders collapsed onto the spare bed, slipping from the elf's hold with a relieved huff. The distance between the two manors in Hightown wasn't particularly far, but one expected that reality to become warped after almost being crushed by the Deep Roads. The mage gave Fenris a grateful nod, settling himself with a quiet huff.

“Call if I am needed,” Fenris muttered. “Be well, Varric.”

The dwarf had to blink a few times as Fenris stalked away, the door closing behind him with a slight click. 

He looked back at Anders. “What'd you do to him?”

“What are you talking about?” Anders frowned. 

Varric crossed his arms. “I've never seen Fenris so uncharacteristically  _kind_ towards you.”

“I don't know – he's probably glad I didn't suck the soul out of Hawke.” He huffed. “Hawke asked him to keep me occupied while getting the . . . unpleasant stuff out of the way. He asked what happened to me, I told him.”

Ah, finally. A story he could listen to without the others breathing down his neck. Varric took a seat opposite the bed, eying the mage curiously. “What  _did_ happen – after the uprising, I mean?”

“I stand by my actions, Varric.”

“Not the question I asked.”

Anders closed his eyes for a moment, a hand tugging the tie out of his hair so he could tame the stand coming loose once again. “I sought help.”

“Help for what?”

“Justice.” 

Justice, the spirit that had possessed (“possessed” being a relative term, given that most of the time it was indeed  _Anders_ at the steering wheel) the mage. It had been a willing arrangement, or so he was told. Part of him lo o ked at Anders pained expression most of the time and could hardly believe Anders would  _willingly_ expose himself to whatever hell Justice imposed on his psyche. Low and behold, nine years later, Ander goes and blows up the Chantry. Sebastian cries like a little girl, the templars call war on the mages, Meredith turns into a priceless lyrium statue and here we are.

Hawke had never treated Anders (or Justice, for that matter) any differently from the others. The man went out of his way to accommodate the ex-Warden and valued him as a close friend, much to his lovers chagrin. Hawke was with Anders all the way, pushing for mage freedom, often recalling how quickly he and his family had to move because of the mage status for he, his father and his sister. But Hawke also recognized just how dangerous all mages, if left to their own devices, could be. But being confined to the Circle,  _constantly_ under the mercy of the Templar eye – taking away freedom from one who didn't ask to be born a particular way wasn't right. So when Anders destroyed the Chantry, the work Hawke thought they were doing together unraveled, le ading to  what was essentially a  war, one of which involved  _everyone_ . Meredith was a single entity in Kirkwall – yes, there were other templars who did not share the mindset of someone like Carver per se, but they could all be handled  one way or another, in a controlled fashion . But  as soon as sanctuary for all was destroyed, and so obviously by magic,  that control was lost . 

Hawke had held the blade of his staff to his friends chest and told him to run and remain hidden. 

Yet here Anders sits. 

“After that day, I . . . realized I was no longer truly myself. Justice was becoming corrupted – likely by influence of my own.” The blonde man rubbed the stubble forming across his cheek. “I couldn't _think_ straight, Varric. So I went after the only person I believed I could turn to – who I thought . . . wouldn't _care_ about what happened.”

“And who was that?” Varric asked.

Anders laughed at himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The more I think about it, the more  ridiculous it sounds . But I went to the Warden Commander. Of Fereldan.”

The dwarf leaned back a little, his hand going over the chair's armrest to stroke Bianca, thinking over the words. After a few moments silence, the blonde still staring at him, he pressed for more information. “Well don't stop  _there_ !”

The ex-Warden's tale was like none he'd ever spoken of,  not that over the years he was in Kirkwall, he told stories that were good . Varric was vaguely aware of the mage's time in Amaranthine, though he'd never discussed it explicitly,  opting to avoid telling a story that “isn't mine to tell”. He would however, frequently mention Ser Pounce-a-lot,  a cat given to him by a “good friend”.

In all the chaos left in the wake of the rebellion, Anders had fled with the Circle of Magi, though headed far from Redcliffe when it became clear that the others no longer tolerated his continued presence – as Varric had suspected. But despite suffering continued black outs (to the point where he'd begun marking his skin to determine just how long each one was) and unable to stay in one place for too long no thanks to the constant templar activity, Anders was never without a purpose. He'd caught onto a rumor about Warden Commander Cousland, that Leliana was looking for ways to contact her. Whether legitimately or not, he may have feigned some kind of partnership with the Inquisition to hopefully get to her first. It was the light at the end of a very long tunnel.

“So where was she?” Varric questioned. 

“When I caught up to her myself, the Anderfels.” Anders said, taking the wet cloth Varric offered and wiping the grime from his face and arms. “But she'd been in Tevinter. What better place to look for a cure then the homeland of the bastards that started it all to begin with?”

“You went from Kirkwall, to Ferelden, then back to the Anderfels . . . and now back in Kirkwall?”

“Sufficed to say that I've grown a hate for traveling.” He grumbled. “It wasn't exactly an easy journey, either - by the time I got to her, I was a wreck. I could barely see straight, let alone think. An apprentice that had been traveling with her stabilized me, if only temporarily. It was another month before we finally worked out how to separate me from Justice, but it was well worth the wait. For me, at least.”

“I don't like having to ask so many questions, but _how_ did they separate you? Hawke mentioned that it couldn't be done.” Varric said.

“With great difficulty.”

The dwarf frowned. “You don't say.”

“It wasn't pleasant. It didn't go completely to plan – my magic is practically non-existent and we don't yet know what became of Justice, if he even got through unscathed at all.”

That explained Carver's assessment of him.

Anders continued. “ But she . . .” He sighed. “I don't know. She cast me off to Nathaniel for 'safe keeping' and took off the next morning without so much as a goodbye.”

Varric was taken aback, though he had a suspicion about Cousland's behaviour. And not a good one. The timeline Anders had provided him with matched rather curiously to the events involving the Fade. It was a well known fact that Alistair had been Cousland's lover.  Perhaps notice of his death had provoked that kind of response?

“She's a big girl,” Varric said. “I'm sure she's fine.”

But Anders shook his head. “I have seen Esme Cousland  be  happy,  be  sarcastic,  be a noble, and  be  downright pissed at darkspawn. But when we finally caught back up to her . . . she was something else.”

“How so?”

“She'd dragged a Tevinter mage, part of the Venatori, through Kirkwall to the prison that once housed Corypheus. I'm not certain what she was asking the mage to do, but by the time we reached her, the Venatori was dead on the ground.” He shuddered. “What I saw in her eyes was savage. She spoke three words to us, attacked Nathaniel, then hit us with a smoke bomb. We've been scouring the Deep Roads since.”

Varric frowned.  _Through_ Kirkwall? Unlikely. Unless Carver or one of Aveline's guards had been slacking off, there was no way they wouldn't have spotted Cousland and a Tevinter mage wandering into their side of the Deep Roads. Though he didn't mention the patrol to Anders. Just in case.

“That cavern is another week away at least – why are you so close to Kirkwall? If she's looking for Venatori, there aren't any here.” Varric pressed.

“Honestly, I'm not here by choice. It was all Nathaniel's doing, I swear. Idiot thought she'd pass through, maybe make camp towards the surface. I insisted otherwise, but of course I got dragged along. We gathered a small group with the intention to come here, but came across the eluvians instead. Then I split off to . . . go after Merrill. And here I am.” He leaned his head against the bedhead. “I got caught in a cave-in.”

“With no way of calling Nathaniel for help.” Varric muttered, remembering Anders' chant about not dying. The dwarf leaned back in his chair. “You think he's looking for you?”

“Maybe,” Anders sighed. “But if the cave-in hinders his ability to reach the surface, he'll press on without me. I'd rather catch back up to him.”

Given that Hawke had little tolerance for Anders' presence, Varric couldn't blame him. 

* * *

When he'd settled Anders for the night (with strict orders not to set anything alight by accident), Varric had conveyed the story Anders told to Cassandra and Trevelyan, the Iron Bull and his Chargers crowding the Hanged Man, despite their incredibly few numbers, loudly singing some tale about “a giant with a giant misfortune”. 

The Inquisitor looked tired,  though rather upbeat . The crossbow had been stored away and he'd shed the cloak  and jacket underneath , dismissing concerns of others recognizing him here with a polite gesture around them, allowing Cassandra to take in the quite drunk, some even sorrowful, patrons of the Hanged Man.  He seemed surprisingly casual, hair a tad mussed and a tankard of ale in his hand, hand-less arm in a make-shift sling (his scarf, as it would seem) and resting over his chest.

Cassandra was still in armor. As one would expect.

“Nathaniel Howe and a handful of others wandering around underneath us looking for Esme Cousland.” Oscar summarized. “And Cousland killed a Venatori?”

“Which she dragged down there to begin with. Not to mention attacking her own men.” Varric added.

“This just keeps getting better.”

“What could the Warden want with a Venatori mage?” Cassandra questioned. “There has been no rumor or tale about her conflicting with them. There is no obvious connection.”

Varric shrugged. “Blondie doesn't know.  But he mentioned that she went through Kirkwall.  _Past_ my people guarding the entrance.”

Trevelyan's brows pulled together, shooting an uncertain glance to his partner. “Could he have been mistaken?”

“I don't know. Is it wrong that I want him to be?”

“I wouldn't fault you if you did,” Trevelyan sighed. “But we're again facing a flaw in your defenses. Perhaps it's time to investigate.”

“What, you think one of my watch birds is letting everyone through?” Varric scowled.

“No, Varric,” Cassandra said. “But it is worth looking into.”

“Tomorrow I'll contact an associate. We'll go over what exactly is happening – not by accusing any of your people,” The Inquisitor said before Varric could interrupt. “But I have a feeling that there's something else going on here.”

That didn't make the dwarf feel any happier. “You'll forgive me if I bring my most trusted guard dog?”

“I welcome it.”


End file.
